


The First Rule of Retail

by The_lazy_eye



Category: Anne of Green Gables - L. M. Montgomery, Anne with an E (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Retail, Bickering, Car Sex, Coworkers to lovers, Enemies to Lovers, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Getting Together, The Shirbert Smut Circle, Thrift Shop AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-25
Updated: 2020-08-25
Packaged: 2021-03-07 01:35:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,560
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26108806
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_lazy_eye/pseuds/The_lazy_eye
Summary: And then, the golden rule everyone knows but no one says. The first, most important, rule of retail:Do not, under any circumstances, sleep with your coworkers.
Relationships: Gilbert Blythe/Anne Shirley
Comments: 24
Kudos: 184
Collections: Shirbert smut, The Shirbert Circle





	The First Rule of Retail

There are two sets of rules that apply to working in customer service. The first set comes from training videos and orientations. Boring men in plain black suits drone on about company standards and policies. Training managers peppily guide new employees through the ropes. _Service with a smile_ , they say. _The customer is always right_.

_Show up promptly and on time for your shift and stay clocked in for the entire time._

_If you’re within a five-foot distance from a customer, make sure you interact with them._

_Sell, sell, sell!_

_If you have a conflict with another team member, be sure to exhaust all other avenues before involving management._

While all the rules feel outdated and a little unrealistic, Anne thinks that last one is particularly bad. Yeah, sure conflict resolution is a great skill to have but when it comes to the bigger things, she can’t possibly be expected to handle it on her own first. _Especially_ when those bigger things are a constant revolving door involving one of her most hated, most _obnoxious_ coworkers.

The _laissez faire_ mentality that her managers have adopted is only part of the ticking time bomb that is Anne Shirley’s contentious relationship with Gilbert Blythe.

But that’s another story for another day.

There are other kinds of rules, too. They’re the kind that can only be learned on the job. They’re the rules that are passed from coworker to coworker. They’re learned in the breakroom and over the walkie talkies.

_Keep your phone in your front pocket instead of your back, that way the managers usually won’t notice._

_There’s a blind spot in the cameras between the hoodies and capris._

_Billy always uses the top left locker in the break room. If he’s working that day, make sure to pick literally any other locker._

_Ted always goes to the bathroom between seven thirty and eight, so if you want to sneak away and eat your breakfast bar that’s your best opportunity._

_Do not let Anne and Gilbert work alone together._

And then, the golden rule everyone knows but no one says. The first, most important, rule of retail: _Do not, under any circumstances, sleep with your coworkers._

Good thing Anne doesn’t have to worry about this one. There isn’t a single person at this store she would even _consider_ sleeping with.

They are completely unwritten, and yet every employee at The Junk Drawer lives and breathes by them. These rules are arguably more important because, while ignoring the first set of rules may get you fired, ignoring the second set will certainly lead to higher rates of job dissatisfaction.

And by that, Anne means hell. It’ll lead to pure, unadulterated hell. The last thing someone wants when they’re stuck working in a shitty retail store is to have tense relationships with their coworkers. That will upset the delicate equilibrium within the store crew and inevitably upend the entire team. It starts with someone accidentally using Billy’s locker and ends with Josie creating a cyberbully texting ring with the end goal being to ostracize the offending employee. Once things hit that point, something inevitably snaps. Sometimes management will get involved but more often than not someone ends up quitting and it’s _never_ the person who’s in the wrong.

People always say things like _happy wife, happy life_ but Anne knows that the truer, more powerful statement is _happy crew, happy mood_.

So, Anne has learned over the past year of her employment to follow the rules. Both sets, without question.

Or else suffer the consequences.

A it turns out, in order to follow some rules, she might inevitably break some others. For example, in order to follow the _clock and stay clocked in_ rule, Anne is going to have to work, alone, with Gilbert Blythe.

All because Charlie Sloan ate a bit of bad sushi and is now puking his guts up all over his bathroom toilet. Or, at least that’s what he said over the phone. At the end of the day it doesn’t matter if he’s telling the truth or not, because he’s not coming in either way.

Anne can feel the beginnings of a tension headache crawling up the back of her skull as she hangs up the phone.

“That was Charlie,” She says into the employee headset. “He’s not coming in. Food poisoning.”

Gilbert groans. “Are you serious?”

“As can be.”

“Great.”

_Great._

Their manager has already gone home, leaving the keys in Anne’s possession to lock up at the end of the night. It was a tossup between either her or Gilbert running the shop, both being more than qualified after being promoted to co-lead associates. So, when Anne was handed the keys Gilbert all but threw a mini temper tantrum, claiming it would be easier if he locked up instead. Anne would have laid into him for that comment, too, if their manager didn’t level them with a very pointed look.

But with no one here to get between them when they fight, Anne can already feel the frustration setting in the bottom of her stomach.

It should be easy, running the store with Gilbert. Really, they’re the two most competent employees. Gilbert’s been here for a few years now and can restock shelves with his eyes closed. Anne is nothing if not a go-getter and proved herself within her first six months, earning herself that promotion and a reputation as a healthy mix between a hard-ass and a kiss-ass. Between Gilbert’s lengthy experience and Anne’s upbeat attitude, they should be the dream team.

Too bad he’s a self-righteous asshole.

Diana has brought the topic up several times, which Anne always shuts down. _Why can’t she just forgive him?_ Diana will say. _It’s not like he_ meant _to hurt her feelings or anything._

First, he _did_ mean to hurt her. Boys don’t make fun of a girl’s hair without there being some kind of ill intent. Second, it’s not just The Great Carrots Incident of 2019 that Anne still stharbors a grudge for. It’s that, stock piled with everything that came after. All of the side-eyed looks, every undermining comment, every argument.

She spends most of her time avoiding him. Either she’s at the register ringing someone up and he’s on the floor, or they’re swapped. Despite the fact that they’re wearing headsets and he can say anything he wants, whenever he wants, Anne makes sure to keep her distance. She can deal with his disembodied voice but having him in her space, talking directly to her? She’s not sure how long she’ll go before causing a scene. He knows how to push every single one of her buttons and does so regularly. And with the store as dead slow as it is, the last thing she needs is to get caught in the maelstrom that is Gilbert Blythe.

“It’s almost eight. When are you planning on doing cash?” He sneaks up on her when she’s folding clothes, tucked in the women’s section of the store and silently running an inventory on outer wear. The sound of his voice makes her drop the cardigan she was holding.

“Would you get off my back?” She snaps, spinning around. She moves so quick her hair swings and smacks her in the face, probably ruining any chance she had of looking intimidating. It does the trick, either way, and Gilbert surrenders, slinking off to wherever it was he was hiding.

He finds her a little while later, coins and dollar bills scattered across the counter top. She’s not normally this messy, but with an empty store and nothing else to do, she takes her time. Really spreads out and uses the lack of customers to her advantage.

“Hey, Carrots,” He hums, leaning against the opposite side of the counter so he can watch. His eyes bore tiny, laser thin holes into the side of her head. She hates how it feels to be looked at by him. It sets off all of her nerve endings, makes her hyper aware of how she’s standing and moving and _breathing_. It’s uncomfortable and she can’t figure out how to ignore him. “How’s it going over here?”

“I don’t need your help. Despite what you might think, I’m perfectly capable of wrecking drawers by myself.”

“I didn’t say you needed help, jeez,” He says, walking away with his hands in the air. He circles back ten minutes later to watch her sort coins into the change counter. “Are you mad because I asked Ted for the keys? I only thought it’d be nice for you to have a night off, I didn’t mean anything by it.”

“Sure,” She says because she doesn’t want to fight with him. She just wants him to go away. It doesn’t matter what he says or thinks, she can see right through his little charade. He thinks she can’t handle herself. That’s why he’s always breathing down her neck and double checking her work. That's why he’s so _insufferable_. He wants to prove he’s better.

He clicks his tongue and Anne _knows_ he’s rolling his eyes, but she doesn’t bother to look over and check. Eventually, Gilbert stalks back out onto the floor to finish their closing tasks. Anne doesn’t see him again for another twenty minutes, not until he wheels the mop bucket out of the back.

By the time she’s finished with cash, Anne loses track of him. She has a feeling he’s in the back room, probably messing around on his phone or something, but she can’t find it in herself to care. Between the two of them, they’ve managed to clean the store up and get it ready for closing so the second the clock hits nine she locks the front door.

She is so satisfied that she pulls her own phone out of her pants pocket to send a quick text over to their manager letting them know the night went smooth, even without Charlie.

All she wants to do is get her stuff and go home, so when she rounds the corner to the break room she completely forgets Gilbert is back there and crashes straight into him.

And spills his drink all over her white shirt.

To anyone else, they would be a hilarious sight. Anne stands there, arms held out at her sides and face completely frozen in disgust. Gilbert towers over her, a look of horror and confusion plastered over his own face while he desperately tries to figure out what to do with his hands. Etiquette tells him to help clean up the mess but the store rules say _touch Anne and you die._

He says, “Anne, I’m so sorry!” at the same exact time she says, “What the fuck!”

It takes her approximately thirty seconds to get her bearings. The entire front of her shirt is stained brown and she _reeks_ of coffee. Which is insane to begin with because who the hell drinks coffee this late at night? Is he some kind of psychopath? “Are you serious?”

Gilbert, seemingly having figured out what to do, presents her with a roll of paper towels from the break room and a sheepish look. “Look, I’m sorry. I’ll buy you a new shirt.”

She can’t help but roll her eyes and when she talks, she doesn’t bother to hide the venom dripping from her voice. “Oh, yeah? From where?”

This is just like him! He always has to play the savior, always has to be the big man on campus, even when there’s no one around to impress.

“We... work in a clothing store.”

Anne feels her cheeks turn a darker shade of red, but snaps her mouth shut. Her tunnel vision of _I hate him, I hate him, I hate him!_ makes it difficult to remember then when and where of their fight, so to avoid further embarrassment she opts for a glare.

Because she’s glaring, she catches the way his eyes dart downward for one quick second. If she blinked, she would have missed it. But she didn’t. She saw it as clear as day and the very thought that he would objectify her so blatantly has her seeing red.

“Get away from me!” She shouts, smacking the paper towels out of his hand and pushing past him to her locker.

“Whoa, what is your problem?” Gilbert mutters the words under his breath and Anne isn’t quite sure if she was meant to hear them, but she does. They set her teeth on edge.

“What’s my problem? Seriously?”

Gilbert rolls his eyes and leans back against the doorframe, where he’s remained since their collision. “Yeah, seriously. What’s your problem? You’re always so mean. Can’t you just calm down for like _two seconds_ and realize I’m trying to help you?”

Anne laughs at this. It’s high pitched and breathy and angry all at the same time. “Calm down? I will not _calm down_. You ruined my shirt!”

“On accident!” He cries, hands now thrown in the air in a blatant show of exasperation. “Listen, I’m not fighting with you tonight. I’m going to go out there, get you a new shirt, and then we’re going to lock the store up and go home. Okay?”

Anne finds it hard to argue when the entire front of her now brown shirt is sticking to her chest. Gilbert doesn’t wait for an answer and instead stalks out into the main area of the store.

“Who drinks coffee at this late, anyway,” Anne mumbles, pulling at her shirt and realizing just how stained it is. It was already thin to begin with and is now almost completely sheer, revealing the intricate pattern of her bra and making Anne groan in defeat.

She already knows he was staring at her, so she figures it doesn’t matter much if she takes the whole thing off while she waits. If she has to stand here and wait for Gilbert to rummage through the graphic tee’s section, she may as well dry her chest off in the process.

She pulls her shirt up and over her head before depositing it in the trash can. Then, she picks up the discarded paper towels and begins to dab at the dampest parts of her skin. She doesn’t hear him come back in until he trips over his own two feet and the soles of his shoes squeak against the tile flooring.

“Jesus Christ, Anne,” He says, plastering one hand over his eyes while the other hand holds out the shirt he picked.

“Save it, I saw you staring,” She says, snatching the shirt and pulling it on.

Gilbert doesn’t lower his hand until Anne has the shirt pulled completely on and even then, he peaks through his fingers just to be sure. “I didn’t mean to stare.”

“Well, you did,” Anne sneers. And for an added bonus, she tacks on, “Asshole.”

She expects him to fight back, to continue defending himself. She’s prepared for it, hackles raised and an entire arsenal of insults ready on her command. It’s going to be the battle to end all battles – the fight that finally puts an end to their unceasing arguments.

They’re going to go down in flames, right here in the break room.

She watches as he opens his mouth to speak, to fight, to wage war. Except all that comes out is, “I’m sorry.”

It’s quiet and small, both two things that are so unlike him. Normally, he fills whatever space he is in. Gilbert is charismatic and charming; quick witted and funny; the Golden Boy of Avonlea and most of Prince Edward Island. He is not small nor he is quiet. So, when she sees him staring at the ground, properly ashamed of himself, she doesn’t know what to do.

She doesn’t want to forgive him, because that would be a lie. So instead, she grabs her bag and makes her way out of the breakroom, shutting off the lights with him still inside.

She has to let him catch up when she reaches the back door so she can lock up behind him and even though he hovers close to her space, she tries to pretend he’s not there.

“Anne,” He tries, tailing her to where they’re parked. “I really am sorry. For both things.”

“If you’re sorry, then why’d you do it?”

Gilbert falters as he stands by his car, watching Anne fiddle with her own keys while she waits for an answer. “The coffee was an accident, I didn’t know you were coming around the corner. The… the _looking_ was also an accident. My eyes just kind of drifted down – but the second I realized I stopped!”

He’s red from the edge of his hairline all the way down to the collar of his shirt. Anne can practically feel the embarrassment rolling off of him in waves. She takes a mild amount of satisfaction in it and it curbs her anger.

A little bit, anyway.

“I’d be more inclined to believe you if you weren’t such a prick.”

“Hey,” He defends, and there it is. Classic Gilbert. “I said I’m sorry.”

“And I’m sure you expect me to just fall all over myself to forgive you because you’re _so perfect_ that no one has ever been genuinely mad at you before.”

“That can’t possibly be true because _you’re_ genuinely mad at me every day.”

“Because you deserve it.”

“I don’t understand _why_!”

She doesn’t notice that they’re creeping in on each other, steadily getting closer until they’re well within each other’s personal bubbles. The close proximity allows Anne to lean in and really throw her weight forward when she says, “It’s the hubristic tendencies, for me.”

“Well, it’s the anger issues, for me,” Gilbert spits, clearly having reached his breaking point in their fight. It always goes like this, almost as if he can’t handle when she actually fights back and defends herself.

“It’s the superiority complex, for me.”

Gilbert gawks, obviously unprepared for her to keep swinging. If he wants to take digs at her, she’ll dig right back.

“It’s the toxic competitiveness, for me,” He says. Flexing forearms cross over his chest as he stands his ground. There’s a split second where Anne realizes just how much taller Gilbert is than her, and that thought alone is enough to make her swallow. Too bad it’s not enough to make her stop. “It’s the grudge holding, for me.”

“Well, it’s your inability to understand that I hate you, for me!” Anne shouts, impulsively throwing her purse onto the ground and crossing her own arms to match Gilbert’s stance. The words she chooses are strong, but that’s only to get her point across to Gilbert who seemingly can’t stand a single thing about her.

Anne is just about to walk away, certain that she’s ended their weekly fight and come out triumphant, when he quickly retorts with, “It’s your inability to understand that I actually like you, for me!”

Well _that_ doesn’t make any sense. Gilbert Blythe does not like her. He does not like a single thing about Anne. He hates her hair, as evidenced by the way he tugged on her braid during orientation. She _knows_ he hates her laugh because he’s always mocking it, making sure to laugh loudly and obnoxiously every time he hears her laugh. He _especially_ hates the way Anne runs the store. If he didn’t, he wouldn’t challenge every single decision Anne ever makes. No, Gilbert Blythe _does not_ like her. “You hate me.”

He scrubs a hand down the side of his face and rolls his head back to stare at the ceiling. Then, slowly, he levels his gaze with hers. “No, Anne, _you_ hate _me._ ”

All the fight drains out of her and the only thing she’s capable of saying is a soft, “What?”

“I’ve never hated you.”

“Bullshit. The very first day we met you pulled my hair and mocked me.”

“I wasn’t _mocking you_ ,” He clarifies, “I was just trying to get your attention because –”

He cuts off suddenly and the lack of closure makes Anne’s blood boil. Gilbert stands twiddling his thumbs only two feet away, keeping his secrets and motives to himself. It’s not fair, not when he’s made Anne feel so small in the past. Not when he’s constantly filling her with ire and bickering with her. No. She wants answers and tonight she’s going to get them. “Because what?”

“Never mind.” He pulls out his keys, trying to signal that their conversation is over, and without thinking she knocks them from his hands.

“No, not never mind,” She challenges. The same fire from before floods back into her chest and makes her puff it out in a vain attempt to look bigger. To intimidate Gilbert into giving into her childish demands.

“It’s nothing, forget I said anything.”

“It’s not nothing. You _hurt_ me, Gilbert. And if you have a better reason other than _I just wanted to pick on the new girl,_ I deserve to know.”

He sighs, looking from her steely expression to the way her boots are crushing his keys. “Fine. I did it because I thought you were cute, okay? I liked you. I _still_ like you. Happy?”

Anne falters, the world tilting on its axis and spilling every truth she’s ever known onto the pavement. He likes her… He likes her? “You mean, _like-like?_ But what about all our fights? All the times you berated–”

“Jesus – yes, Anne. I mean _like-like_. And I wasn’t berating you. I was just – I don’t know, trying to get you to talk to me? At least if we were fighting, I wasn’t invisible. And when we’re not fighting, you’re pretty cool. _Really_ cool, actually. And funny, and smart.” Gilbert looks positively mortified as he says it, like he wants to climb into his car and speed away as fast as possible. His roguish eyes have gone full puppy-dog as he desperately glances down at Anne’s foot. “Alright, if you’re done humiliating me for the night, can I _please_ have my key back?”

Anne hardly registers his request, and as a result does not give him his keys back. Instead, she stands on top of them and tries to process this newly acquired information. _Gilbert likes her_. Not only does he like her, but he _like-likes_ her. As in, has a crush on. As in, those big brown puppy dog eyes and infuriating smirk aren’t him making fun of her, but him just looking at her. Looking _for_ her.

She thinks about all the times they don’t fight and how those moments feel. Anne never thought much of them, other than being annoyed that he made her laugh or smile at some dumb thing. Normally, she just felt an odd sense of peace wash over her. She assumed it was her body’s way of saying _thank you for not fighting and making me pump out all these stress hormones_ but maybe it wasn’t. Maybe peaceful was just how Gilbert felt. You know, when they weren’t at each other’s throats.

“Anne,” He pleads. “Come on.”

His voice snaps her back into reality and, for the first time, she sees him. Her vision isn’t clouded with the same animosity it was only a few hours ago. With the truth behind his actions revealed, Anne loses her ability to hold her grudge. The bad blood dries right there in the parking lot and, without warning, Gilbert becomes a regular guy instead of a storybook villain.

She lets her eyes roam over his features, over the sharp angle of his jawline and the way his eyebrows pinch in and up, down the column of his neck and over his broad shoulders. His attractiveness has never been lost on her and it certainly isn’t now, especially now that she’s allowing herself to really look. 

For the second time tonight, Anne notices how much taller he is. Even hunched over, he has several inches on her and the full-bodied realization makes her toes tingle.

Somewhere during her journey along his body, she realizes that under all their fights and glares, she might just like him, too. You know, _like-like._ She just couldn’t admit it before now.

This time, when her eyes settle back on his she doesn’t bother trying to conceal anything with anger or annoyance. All of his cards are on the table, so it’s only fair if hers are too.

They stand there, suspended in reality, for what feels like forever. The only movement is the crackle of energy that steadily grows between them at her silent admission. She’s not sure who moves first, who leans in and grabs the other, but if she had to wager a bet she would say it was her. There’s something in the way his tongue darts out to lick his bottom lip that makes her mind go _blank_.

Gilbert kisses like he does everything else: with passion. He holds her face with both of his hands, so large they dwarf her checks and spill onto her neck, and starts off slow and languid. His lips slot against hers as she grips the collar of his shirt, no doubt stretching out the neck.

He whispers her name between kisses as he walks her backwards, pressing her against the cool metal of his car. Anne goes willingly, more than happy to be boxed in by Gilbert as the pace picks up. Before she knows it, he’s nipping at her lower lip and slipping his tongue inside her mouth.

She relishes the feeling, allowing her own hands to wander the expanse of Gilbert’s torso. He’s not exactly ripped, but he’s more toned than Anne expected him to be. She can feel the definition of his pecs under his shirt, followed by the slight bumps of would-be abs. Gilbert’s hands, in turn, work their way from her face up into her hair. The fingers of one hand wind little red ringlets, causing it to get stuck and yank slightly when he tries to pull away. The feeling yields an unexpected reaction, causing little spark of heat to shoot down Anne’s spine and into the pit of her stomach and, regrettably, causing her to moan.

Loudly.

Gilbert breaks the kiss for all of one second, which he uses to suck in a sharp breath, before his lips are back on hers. The hand in her hair stays put and while the other makes its way down to her hip, grasping into her and kissing her like his life depends on it.

It’s frantic and messy, as if all the heat in their bodies has reached a boiling point and tipped the scales. “Is this okay?” Gilbert breaths between kisses. When Anne nods, he simply presses her tighter against the car.

“You’re so beautiful. I can’t believe I’m kissing you,” He slurs. Anne kisses him again to shut him up, but laughs into his lips because it doesn’t work. “I mean it. from the first moment I saw you I knew I wanted to know you. I knew I wanted to kiss you.”

“I didn’t know,” Anne answers. “Mostly because I wanted to punch you in the face.”

“Do you still want to do that?” He asks, a smirk playing against her lips.

“Yeah, a little,” She says, and then she does. Except she doesn’t punch him with her fist. She bites his lower lip with her teeth and sucks it into her mouth, drawing a ragged moan from his chest. The hand on her hip digs in a little harder as he matches her fervor. The pressure of his thumb digging into that fleshy spot right inside of her hipbone tears another moan from her chest and she anchors her hands in his hair, setting off a chain reaction that ends with Gilbert rolling his hips into Anne’s thigh.

The feeling of him, hot and heavy against her with only a few layers of clothing separating them, is enough to kickstart something in her chest. The heat that was gathering in her stomach is now an inferno and, without thinking, she rolls her hips into his.

Gilbert chokes on his breath, “Anne.”

“Yes, Gilbert?” She answers, threading the fingers of her right hand through his belt loop to keep him close.

“Is this okay?”

 _“Yes, Gilbert._ ” She punctuates her words with another roll of her hips, enjoying the way Gilbert’s entire body twitches toward her, reaches out for her without his command. 

“We’re in a parking lot,” He says, as if he’s trying to talk himself out of it.

“We are,” Anne says. And then, just to follow the trend of pointing out the obvious, she says, “And your car is right here.”

Gilbert’s head snaps up as he looks from Anne to his car and then back again. His smile is wild and uncontained, lighting him up like a god damn Christmas tree. He pushes away from both Anne and his car, eyes scanning the ground before he grabs his keys and hits the unlock button.

They tumble into the backseat with little grace and end up as nothing but a heaping pile of limbs and laughter, Gilbert on top and Anne squashed beneath him. She laughs into his shoulders while her fists gently pound on his chest, pushing him up and away while he apologizes through his own giggles.

Whatever silly energy Anne feels quickly fades as Gilbert settles between her legs and sinks his teeth into her collarbone, nipping at the skin and then soothing it over with his tongue.

Without warning, he breaks away. “Wait, this isn’t just a hookup, right?”

There’s a sudden flash in his eyes, the kind that tells Anne this isn’t something to joke about no matter how much she wants to tease him. He looks so raw, so vulnerable that it makes her heart skip. Has he always looked like this? Was she always just blind?

“Not unless you want it to be,” She says. It’s the honest truth. Even with his confession written in the stars, she still gives him an out. It doesn’t have to be a hookup, but it can be. It can be whatever he wants it to be because, in this moment, she wants whatever he is.

He answers the way she expects him to. A simple, “I don’t,” followed by another bruising kiss.

“I have a condom,” Anne says between kisses, reaching down to grab the purse she deposited on the floor. Quickly, she pulls one out and shoves it into his chest.

Gilbert throws his head back and laughs, gracefully taking the condom and sticking it in the handle of the door. “God, I feel like a teenager right now. Are we really about to fuck in the back of my car?”

“Not unless you don’t want to.” Anne’s eyes flick over to the abandoned condom as if to emphasize her point. “I’m not fucking you without a condom.”

“First, I never said I don’t want to.” Gilbert lowers himself back down and buries his head into the crock of Anne’s neck, peppering a few errant kisses before latching on and sucking a proper hickey into her skin. She can’t help the way her body arches into his or the way she shudders at the sensation of him physically marking her. “Second, I never said I was against the condom. I just have a few things I want to do, first.”

Again, she shudders as he makes his way down her body. His hands slide up the skin of her tummy and lift her shirt up and over her bra before he tugs it down, exposing her breasts. His eyes can the expanse of her body, naked between her shoulders and waist. She can feel the burn of his eyes as he takes her in, gentle and reverent in his gaze yet somehow hungry. He brings one hand up to her collarbone, fingers skimming her skin as he gently traces patterns down to the bottom of her rib cage. There, he flattens his palm and presses gently on her stomach, spreading his fingers so his hand takes up the vast majority of the real estate there. “You know this is my weekly wet dream, right?”

Anne slaps at his chest with one hand and desperately tries to hide her face with the other. There’s a hint of embarrassment that wells up inside of her, but mostly she’s just trying to hide the way she’s laughing. “Gilbert Blythe, you cad!”

His returning laugh gets muffled by the way he takes one peaked nipple into his mouth and sucks.

 _Fuck_ , it feels good. The way his tongue expertly darts out and rubs tight circles around her areola feels better than she could have imagined. He gives equal attention to her neglected breast with his hand, pinching and tweaking until he’s got her writhing against the worn down fabric of his back seat. She cards her hands through his hair, winding her fingers in his curls to hold him there and he laughs again, hot breath ghosting out onto her skin.

His spare hand travels down to her thigh and hikes it higher on his hips. She repeats the movement with her other leg and he uses his leverage to curve over and into her. Like this, she can feel him pressing against her core, hard and insistent and almost definitely leaking inside of his boxers. She wiggles down onto it, desperate for friction in the place she needs it most and he responds almost immediately, dragging his hips up and against her in one slow, maddening motion.

Between his entirely too slow thrusts and the feeling of his teeth gently tugging on her other breast, Anne feels like her mind is clouded over with a heavy layer of fog. She body is a wire, coming alive with the electricity of his touch

“Gil,” She pants. When he doesn’t answer she uses her grip to yank him up and off of her breast. He follows reluctantly and a wet pop sounds from where she broke the suction of his mouth.

“Yeah?”

The sight of him with slicked red lips and his mouth half open, staring up at Anne like she’s a goddess in disguise, should be illegal. “Stop teasing me.”

“I’m not teasing you,” He says, but his tongue still comes out to rub lazily at her nipple. The feel of it sends Anne into a frenzy, yanking on his hair a second time and dragging him up for a kiss that’s all teeth and tongue.

Gilbert’s height combined with the narrow space of the car causes Anne to bend practically in half. His entire weight blankets her. In another world, the feeling of an entire boy pressing down on her might make her nervous or claustrophobic but here, now, with Gilbert she feels completely comfortable.

It’s the kind of comfort that bleeds into her entire body, makes her want to relax back into the seat, yet also draw taut at his touch. The kind that compels her to lean up and whisper, “Every second you’re not inside me, you’re teasing me.”

He sucks a sharp breath in, stealing the very air off of Anne’s lips and leaving her lightheaded in his wake. “You’re sure?”

He tucks a strand of hair behind her ear as he talks, making her melt at the way his voice has gone from rough and teasing to gentle and soft. His eyes search hers, looking for any sign of hesitation, any excuse for him to pump the breaks, but he finds nothing.

She’s never felt the desire to sleep with someone on the first date, and especially not before then, but something is different with Gilbert. She feels drawn to him the way magnets stick to fridges. There’s something so natural in the ebb and flow of their relationship, and even though they’ve fought more times than they’ve had civil conversations at this point, this feels right. _He_ feels right. She feels like she could stay like this with him for eternity. She could get to know every piece of Gilbert Blythe in the back of this car. Maybe she could even fall in love with him back here.

She watches the way his pupils blow out wide when she says, “I’m sure.”

The next think Anne hears is the clinking of metal on metal as Gilbert quickly undoes his belt. The process of undressing is difficult with Anne practically in Gilbert’s lap and almost zero space to move, but they somehow manage it as best they can. Both sets of pants come off, Gilbert shucks his boxers down just far enough to pull himself out, and Anne settles for sliding her panties to the side instead of wrestling them off. She curses herself for suggesting the car instead of just keying back into the shop and fucking in the dressing room, because the sight of Gilbert’s cock, out in the open and leaking, is making her mouth water. The tip is bordering on purple and just begging her to wrap her lips around it. In any other situation, she would, but right now she has to settle for shoving the condom back in his hands and hoping he gets this show on the road.

He pauses for a second, because of course he does, to crouch down and press a kiss to her sternum. Then another to her collarbone. “You tell me if it hurts, alright?” She nods in answer, but he shakes his head. “I need to hear you say it. If it hurts, you’ll tell me. If you’re uncomfortable, you’ll tell me and I’ll stop.”

Her mouth goes dry at his words. There’s something so sincere in there, something so _him_ that she can’t help but clench her eyes shut to stave away the burn. She almost expects him to be gone when she blinks them back open because Gilbert can’t be real.

But he is. He’s real and he’s still staring down at her with _that look_. So, she says, “I’ll tell you.”

“Promise?” He asks, holding out his pinky expectantly.

She winds hers around his. “Promise.”

It’s that moment, that singular touch, in which Anne finds the definition of safety. Everything clicks together and grinds to a halt inside of her. The heat, the anticipation, the desperation – all of it stops. Suddenly, it’s just the two of them, floating together in the cosmos. Anne’s never felt anything like this before. Storybooks always talk about the way the world ceases to exist when love is found, but she’s never experienced it firsthand. She knows, _feels it in her bones_ , that even if everything went to hell in a handbasket, she would be okay. He would make sure she’s okay.

The world starts spinning again when he rubs the head of his cock through her folds and groans. The low timbre of his voice reignites that fire inside of her, perhaps more intensely than before. She knows he can feel how wet she is, knows how much she wants him.

Their pinkies are still locked.

She can’t help the way she moans when he finally pushes inside, agonizingly slow. With no foreplay to prepare her, she’s thankful for his gentleness because the stretch of him burns. She can feel the way her body reacts to accommodate him; but even with how turned on she is, she still needs a moment to adjust once he’s fully sheathed.

Gentle kisses are peppered into her hairline and a large hand soothes up and down her arm, keeping her in the moment. She relaxes into his touch, focusing on _Gilbert, Gilbert, Gilbert_ until she can’t take it anymore and practically begs him to move.

He obliges, slow and eager all at once.

“How are you so beautiful?” He breaths, pushing back up so he can watch her. “You feel so good, Anne. So fucking good.”

“You, too,” She echoes, because he does. He feels _so_ good. The burn has faded away into pure bliss as he rocks into her. He somehow has every angle right, even in the cramped space, because the head of his cock brushes up against her g-spot on every thrust. It drives her wild, somehow overwhelming her senses yet not pushing her to the edge she wants to tumble over.

She needs more. She needs –

_“More.”_

His hips snap just a hair faster and one hand goes up to press against the door, keeping her still where she was beginning to slide. Breathy little _uh, uh, uhs_ fall from her lips without consciousness.

_“Harder, Gil, please.”_

He hunches over her. Her pinky has since untangled itself from his and she now has her other hand on his lower stomach, feeling the way his muscles tense with every thrust. After shifting one hand to the window above Anne, Gilbert grabs hold of Anne’s hips with his other and drives forward harder.

She can feel her peak rising, so she bears her hips down to meet his until the car fills with the sound of flesh on flesh accented by their moans. Gilbert hasn’t stopped talking since they started, nonsensical strings of _oh god, Anne, yes,_ and _you’re so wet, you feel so good_ , and _fuck, baby, yes, yes!_

Anne, on the other hand, can’t hardly form a single word. She can feel the way she’s practically drooling on herself, mouth wide open and eyes completely glazed. She wants to tell him how good he feels, how much she loves it, but she can’t. All she can do is keep asking for _more_ , _more –_

_“Oh, god, I’m right there. I’m so close. More, please.”_

The car shakes with the force of his thrusts. In the back of her head, she knows anyone who walks by could probably hear her screaming but she doesn’t care. _She doesn’t care_. The only thing that matters is Gilbert and his perfect face and perfect chin and perfect dick. She’s right there. She’s so fucking close all she needs is _a little bit more_.

She drops her hand from Gilbert’s abdomen to her clit, determined to get herself over the edge before she dies of pleasure.

Gilbert’s only response is a vocal, “Oh, fuck,” as he watches her. She sees his eyes flit from where they’re connected to her hand and then back down. She can’t stop and she doesn’t want to.

“Gil!” She shouts, guttural and choked. _“Gil!”_

And then she’s coming. Wave after wave of pleasure ripples down her spine and into her stomach, sending her into another plane of existence. She’s dimly aware of the way Gilbert grips her hips tighter, thrusts harder, and then stills. Both of them hit their peak almost in sync and they ride it out together, floating in the cosmos in a world that doesn’t quite exist, yet has always been just them.

When she comes back down, Gilbert’s lips are pressing fairy-like kisses on every patch of Anne he can reach.

The cleanup goes slow and lazy. Gilbert ties off the condom and throws it away in the trash can on the other side of the lot and Anne makes sure her hair isn’t too much of a mess for when she gets home. All the while they send secret looks at each other, catching smiles and blushes in the light filtering in through the windows. It isn’t until they’re fully dressed and sorted out, sitting side by side in the back of the car, that someone speaks.

“I guess I can cross car sex off my bucket list,” Gilbert deadpans, sending a sideways glance at Anne and breaking the second she laughs.

“I take it back! We didn’t have sex in your car, that never happened. It was just some kind of elaborate fever dream.”

“No,” He moons, crowding her space and giving her neck a quick kiss. “Don’t take it back, it was the best sex I’ve ever had!”

“Oh,” Anne laughs, hearty and full, “I see how it is. You just wanted to get laid, didn’t you?”

Something crosses Gilbert’s face. His returning chuckle sounds like him, only distracted, and suddenly he looks like he might bolt and run. One nervous hand runs through the curls at the base of his neck. “I was serious before. I really like you.”

“I know,” Anne says. She does know. She knows it in every look he’s ever given her, but she’s been too blind to read. “I like you, too.”

“I don’t want this to be causal.”

“Me either.”

“Cool,” He laughs, still nervous but looking more relieved. “So, if we’re on the same page can I take you out this weekend?”

“Only if you drive. I want a _real_ ride in your car, not the sex kind of ride.”

This pulls a real, pure laugh out of Gilbert’s chest. “Of course. You have to get properly acquainted with ol’ Rudy, here.”

He knocks his knuckles against the roof and sends her a blinding smile. She gets lost in it, but she doesn’t mind. The best part of getting lost is finding your way home.

One day, when this car is on its last leg and Anne is practically bullying him to buy a new one, he’ll propose in the back seat.

She doesn’t know it yet, but she’ll say yes.

**Author's Note:**

> Who wrote me?
> 
> X⭕️X⭕️, The Shirbert Smut Circle
> 
> Thank you to [writergirl8](https://archiveofourown.org/users/writergirl8) for beta reading not only this fic, but the majority (if not all) of the fics in this project. We couldn't have done it without her.
> 
> UPDATED AUTHORS NOTE (8/30/2020)
> 
> Surprise!! It’s me!! Basically everyone got it wrong!! Though, I must tell you, it is an honor to be mistaken for all the other talented writers. 
> 
> Thank you everyone who read along and played with us on twitter, and to all the good sports here who didn’t know where 6 anon E rated fics came from. For anyone who's getting to this fic after The Reveal, all the fics in this collection were posted as anonymous and we made people guess who wrote what. 
> 
> My specific fic is a bit of a self insert that I’ve wanted to write for a while. No, I’ve never had sex with a coworker in the parking lot but I have dated coworkers in the past (didn’t go well) and have watched coworkers date (also didn’t go well) and I always think to myself “the first rule of customer server is to not fuck your coworker” and thought a fic would be super fun. As someone who has spent the better part of a decade in customer service, I had a BLAST writing this fic for Shirbert. It was fun to build up a small little universe and let their personalities take over. I’m so happy that this game gave me the motivation to finally grind this out. 
> 
> Again, thanks to everyone who read/played along! And BIG thanks to [Liv](https://archiveofourown.org/users/orayofsunshine), [Cindy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/botanyclub), [Mags](https://archiveofourown.org/users/h0lyheadharpies), [Jodie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_strangest_person), and [Ela](https://archiveofourown.org/users/writergirl8). Without their constant enthusiasm and dedication to having fun and creating amazing content, this would never have been possible. I have really enjoyed creating with you guys. I think you're all the bees knees!
> 
> Make sure to check out the [Collection](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/The_Shirbert_Circle) and give everyones fics the comments and love they deserve!
> 
> Can’t wait to play again!
> 
> Come chat with me on [Tumblr](http://thelazyeye.tumblr.com/) and on [Twitter](https://twitter.com/thelazyeye24)! And please, if you’re so inclined, drop a comment and let me know what you thought! I literally live for feedback and validation.


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